The Second Father
by Son Of Evil
Summary: After the death of Sirius, Harry is yearning for a parental figure, and through his link with Voldemort, Harry begins to see the Dark Lord in a whole knew light
1. A day in the life of Harry Potter

Chapter One – A day in the life of Harry Potter.

"Get a move on, you useless freak!" Vernon Dursley roared.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry hissed through gritted teeth.

"Don't take that tone with me boy!" Vernon yelled, face going purple. "After all we've done for you, giving you a roof over you're head, food in you're belly, clothes on you're back! You don't know just how lucky you bloody well are!"

Harry took a deep breath. "I know Uncle Vernon. Dinner will be ready soon."

Vernon snorted and stormed out of the kitchen where Harry had been making himself and the Dursley's dinner for the past half hour. "Ungrateful swine," Vernon muttered as he slammed the door shut.

"God I hate him," Harry seethed, his body shacking with barely suppressed rage. "He'll never know how much I've done for him. If it wasn't for me Voldemort would probably have killed him by now." With arrogant, obnoxious muggles like his 'family', Harry could almost sympathise with Voldemort. Though granted, he was taking it a bit far.

Harry muttered angrily to himself as he finished preparing dinner. When it was ready he set the table then went into the living room where the Dursleys' where sitting watching the telly. "Dinner's ready," he announced.

"Well it's about time!" Harry's Aunt Petunia snapped. "Dudley's hungry!"

Harry gritted his teeth and bit back the comment that was fighting to make its way out of his mouth. He turned sharply and marched back into the kitchen, where he stood standing by the table as the Dursley's came in and sat down. He then served them their food, a small amount for Petunia, a huge amount for Dudley, and an enoumes amount for Vernon. Not waiting for Harry to serve his own and sit down, the Dursley's began to eat. 'Wankers,' Harry thought angrily. 'Ungrateful bloody pricks!' He all but fired his own food onto his plate and sat down heavily.

"CAREFUL BOY!" Vernon roared, food and spit flying from his mouth and hitting Harry in the face and chest. "Those chairs are £20 a piece. Normal people can't just get them with all that hocus pocus like 'your lot'! You how us normal people get it?!" Harry kept silent. "Hard bloody work, that's how!" he yelled, and slammed a big meaty fist onto the table. The cutlery rattled, and Dudley looked up from his food to smirk at Harry, before quickly looking down and shovelling food back into his mouth again. Harry glared at each one of them, feeling disgusted at the mixture of food and spit on him, and in his food. He looked down at his plate with a look of revulsion. This did not go unnoticed by Petunia.

"How dare you look so disrespectful!" she shrieked. Vernon looked up while Dudley continued eating. "Vernon works hard to put food on the table, and you can do is sneer at it!"

"I wasn't sneering!" Harry protested.

"I will not have you calling my wife a liar!" Vernon yelled.

"I wasn't!"

"That's it! Go to you're room!"

"But I haven't eaten!"

"NOW!!!"

Harry got up and stormed up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door shut and leaped onto his bed. "I hate them."


	2. Dreams

Chapter Two – Dreams

Hours after Harry had been sent to his room, hours after cursing every one of the Dursleys' (metaphorically), hours after hate filled visions of revenge, hours after wishing he had a real family that loved him the way families were supposed to love each other, hours after trying unsuccessfully to ignore his hunger, hours after crying for his parents and godfather, hours after hating the world and everything in it, hours after hating and blaming himself, the Boy-Who-Lived fell asleep, and began to dream.

He found himself sitting in a room. The walls and ceiling were a dark forest green, and the floor was covered by a rich, soft, deep crimson carpet. He was sitting in a comfterble chair by a fire, crackling merrily. The chair was made of dark brown leather. He was reading a book, an autobiography by a woman named Vernisko Carrasmatri, who has been a vampire for the last 375 years. The woman was pure evil, and she told how, after 23 years as a vampire, she had come to be so. Though vampires are dark creatures, they are not evil by nature. Like wizards, they can choose to follow the Light or embrace the Darkness.

Her story was fascinating. All her human life as a witch, she was raised with a strict set of morals. At 19, she became a vampire, and for the first 23 years, she hated herself, and, plagued with guilt for the people she had killed, wizard and muggle alike, she had came dangerously close to slipping into insanity. But she found that she was beginning to care less and less for her victims. Or, as she later calls them, her prey, and soon, her food. She explained her philosophies, and how she relished in her power. Lord Voldemort was currently reading about her fear that she was becoming a demon, her acceptance of it years later, and eventually how she came to be 100 evil, and her love of it. Voldemort found much of her feelings to resemble his own. As he turned the page, there was a knock on his door. He put the book down on his lap. "Enter," he called. The door creaked open and Wormtail poked his head through.

"Master, your servants have arrived."

Voldemort nodded at wormtail. "Very well. I will be there shortly." Wormtail nodded, bowed, and left, shutting the door behind him. He congaed a small coffee table with a bookmark on it on the left side of his chair. He picked up the book, placed the bookmark in the book, then stood up and stretched. He placed the book onto the coffee table and drew out his wand. He waved it, and billowing black robes appeared on his body. Placing his wand into one of the robes pockets, he exited the reading room and proceeded to the meeting room.

Surprisingly, it was very bright, bright enough that not even the corners of the room where dark. The walls, ceiling and floor where made of light grey stone, with a dark brown table in the centre, and sitting in chairs around the table where the Death Eaters

They stood when he entered, bowing their heads respectfully. Voldemort smiled. "Sit, my friends." They sat wordlessly, all eyes on him. "Now, as you know the Ministry is now aware of my return. I had hoped to keep the fools oblivious until we struck them down, but alas, fate, it seems, had other plans." Some of the Death Eaters shifted. In nervousness, frustration or fear, Voldemort wasn't sure. Possibly all three. "I doubt that the general community knows about me, as the Minister for Magic would not want to cause a panic, or be made to look like the fool he is, having ignored Potter's warning. But now that they do know, they'll me making plans to cause my downfall." Volemort was careful not to say 'My SECOND downfall.' "So now," Voldemort continued, "begs a simple question. What do we do about it?" One of the Death Eaters raised his hand. Voldemort nodded at him. The Death Eater stood up and removed his mask. It was Snape. "You have an idea, Severus?"

"My Lord, perhaps we could..."

Whatever Snape was going to say is lost, because at that moment Harry woke up. His eyes snapped open, then quickly shut again and a loud moan escaped his mouth. His scar was burning, and his head was pounding. "Feels like theirs a head of bloody elephants tap-dancing in their," He muttered. Harry wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he knew that he couldn't. He took a few deep breaths, and then sat up. He knew he had to tell Dumbledore. He still felt betrayed by the man, but he also knew the old wizard had only done what he thought was right.

Although Harry wanted nothing more than to fall into sweet, dreamless sleep, he knew he couldn't. Grunting, Harry forced himself to stand, and staggered over to the light switch. He flicked it on, then moaned loudly as the sudden bright light stung his eyes, and sent a sharp pain through his already aching head. He waited for about a minute, just standing there letting his eyes adjust. Then, he found a pen and a sheet of paper and forced himself to write down everything he'd seen. When he'd finished, he opened Hedwig's cage door, and Hedwig promptly stuck her leg out, in a very business-like fashion. "No, Hedwig. I'm too tired to tie it onto you. You'll just have to take it in your beak." Hedwig gave him an insulted look, puffing up her feathers. "Please," Harry said softly. Hedwig, sensing the boy, soon to be man's, distress, settled her feathers back down and cooed softly in concern. She nibbled his finger softly, then gently took the paper from him. Harry gave her a little smile. "Thanks girl," He whispered, stroking her head. Hedwig nuzzled into his fingers. Harry continued this for a few minutes, finding it calming. Eventually, he sighed and went to the window, opening it. "Give it to Dumbledore, Hedwig." Hedwig flew out the window. Harry watched her fly off into the night, then, when she was out of site, he turned from the window, leaving it open so she could get back in, collapsed onto his bed, and sank into blissful slumber.


End file.
